Let's play murder
by smaugholmeswatson
Summary: Everyone has a dirty little secret they don't want anyone to find out. For Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes it just happens to be a crazy pyschopath of a brother who is determined to destroy everything they hold dear, beginning with the attempted murder of someone close to them. Crossover featuring Lester Nygaard and Khan.
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't unusual for detective inspector Greg Lestrade to remain at New Scotland Yard once everyone else had gone home. It was the only way he could finish tthe paperwork which relentlessly built up during the week despite how much he struggled through each day. Work wasn't the only reason he stayed late though because Lestrade also enjoyed the peace and quiet of the empty office after a hectic day of running around trying to solve crimes while at the same time trying not to get Sherlock involved. Lestrade sigheed and leant back in his chair, the fabric creaking beneath him. At the moment Sherlock was proving to be quite an enigma. Normally the detective was cold and difficult to work with but since John Watson had entered his life Sherlock had been, Lestrade wouldn't go as far as to say he was friendlier, a changed man with more tolerance for those who weren't as quick to catch onto things as he was. Lestraade shook his head, a slight smile turning up the corners of his mouth, and turned his attention back to the mountain of paperwork on his desk.

A clock in one of the other offices struck midnight in strident tones but Lestrade ignored it and continued to stare blankly at the report before him. He still had three of them to get through before he could comtemplate calling it a night. His eyes ached and stung with tiredness and the words on the page had begun to merge into one another. With a sigh Lestrade leant back in his chair, thinking that it couldn't hurt and might even refocus his mind if he took a five minute break. Yawning widely he stood and headed out into the corridor. The interior of New Scotland Yard was just as plain and functional as it looked on the outside with rows of identical small offices all furnished with a desk, a computer and a hard back chair. Though Lestrade's office was slightly bigger than many of the others it was still just as sparse and identical looking to the office of a lower ranking officer. At this time of night even the cleaners had gone home, leaving Scotland Yard shrouded in an eerie silence that wasn't helped by the minimal lighting intended to cut back on the electricity bills. As Lestrade walked down the corridor and became aware of just how loud his footsteps sounded a shiver ran down his spine. He could almost imagine a dark, shadowy creature lurking out of sight as it waited for an oppotunity to attack. Lestrade shook his head, knowing he was being ridiculous and aloowing his imagination to run away with him. During his years as a police officer he had witness shocking crimes and horrific murders and yet here he was, still getting hung up on something as childish as the dark. A wry smile crept onto his face. Sherlock would laugh if he was here.

Shaking his head at himself Lestrade fed coins into the vending machine at the end of the corridor; the hollow clanging chinkle of the money falling into the depths of the machine echoing in the silence. He punched in the corresponding numbers for an energy drink, hoping it would wake him up, and stood there waiting while the machine whirred into life, pushing his selection forward until it dropped into the tray below with a clunk. Bending down Lestrade groaned when the vetebrae in his back cracked and protested and picked up the can. He hated working late but didn't have much choice. Being a detective inspector was hard work. With a deep sigh Lestrade headed back towards his office; his feet echoing loudly despite his attempts to sneak quietly along the corridor. He was roughly halfway back to his office when what scant lighting there was, suddenly and abruptly went out plunging Lestrade into complete darkness. Instantly Lestrade froze, cursing quietly under his breath.

Great of course there had to be a power cut now. Muttering darkly under his breath he blinked rapidly a few times in an attempt to make some sense of the blackness so he could see enough in order to get backto his office without stubbing his toe. It would be a miracle though if he managed it because the corridor before him was a daunting maze of boxes, cupboards and a number of knee high bins. Well, he couldn't remain stranded here all night. Slowly, with his hands stretched out before him, Lestrade hesistantly began to walk towards his office, It was faintly disconcerting not being able to see anything. Hang on, what was that? Lestrade paused, his entire body tensing. Had that been a footstep? He listened, straining his ears but he was unable to hear anything exccept the sound of his own breathing. He shook his head; he was just being daft. There was no one in the building but him. Lestrade walked forward a few paces before he heard the noise again. Okay, that had definatly been the sound of a gentle tread squeaking on the floor despite their best efforts to be quiet. Lestrade's heart punded in his chest and panic flooded through him. He took a few deep breathes to calm himself, maybe it was just a few of the junior officers playing another prank on him. Somehow though he didn't really believe it because the pranksters were usually much more noisy and obvious. Slowly Lestrade turned on his heel and squinted, trying to see who was lurking out of sight.

"Hello?" He called, a slight shake in his voice. "This isn't funny guys." Lestrade expected to hear laughter and raised voices and was therefore surprised when he heard a dark chuckle from behind him that made the hairs on his arm stand on end.

"Of course it isn't funny Greg Lestrade, I'm being deadly serious." said a deep voice laced with malice. The voice seemed to be coming from all directions and Lestrade felt a tightness developing in his chest. He gritted his teeth, damn it he couldn't be having a panic attack now.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself Lestrade began to consider his surroundings. Despite the disorientating darkness he was reasonably sure there was a door to the stairwell close by. Slowly, cautiously he reached out and slid the tips of his fingers across the smooth surface of the wall. Because he was expecting to come into contact with cold metal Lestrade was surprised when his hand touched something warm and very much alive. He let out a involuntary gasp and tried to pull back but a hand grabbed tightly onto his.

Without warning a crippling wave of icy panic tore through Lestrade, leaving him helpless to do anything as his knees shook beneath him. He closed his eyes and muttered a brief prayer under his breath.

"I-I've got him sir." stuttered a weak voice with a strong American accent.

Lestrade rolled his eyes. Great, of course there had to be two of them though the person currently holding his wrist in a tight grip didn't seem all that strong. Before the person could do or say anything further Lestrade twisted their arm sideways, knocking the person off balance and into the wall. They cried out in shock and began to babble to whoever was with him.

"I'm so sorry sir, I didn't expect him to fight back."

Lestrade swore he heard the other person let out a quiet annoyed sigh as though they were barely tolerating the American. "You grabbed his arm, what else was he going to do? Go and make yourself Lester, turn the lights back on. I want to see the fear in his eyes when I kill him." The person with the deep voice snapped.

The person hurried off, their feet squeaking upon the floor. An awkward heavy silence fell and it was broken only by the sound of Lestrade's panicked breathing. Slowly he began to inch backwards away from whoever was in front of him. It was un-nerving how quiet the person was, Lestrade couldn't even hear them breathing. Lestrade's foot struck a metal bin with a loud clang and he froze, cursing under his breath. Oh crap, the person had to have heard that. After several minutes had passed and he hadn't heard any sign of pursuit Lestrade relaxed slightly. Maybe, just maybe he would be able to get away and call for re-enforcements. Careful to feel behind him for any obstacles Lestrade continued to back slowly away. At one point he almost began to feel hopeful that he would actually get away.

Unfortuantly he had forgotten about the American. He was abruptly reminded of his existence when with a loud click and a humming buzz the lights came on without warrning. The sudden brightness seared painfully into his eyes and blinded him, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears which were threatening to spill down his cheeks. Once the pain had subsided a little Lestrade blinked rapidly a few times as he desperatly tried to gain his sight back before either of the two people in the corridor with him could make a move.

"Finally, it took you long enough didn't it Lester?" The deep voice snapped, sounding throughly annoyed with his companion. "Now let's get down to business shall we?"

Lestrade blinked again and finally managed to open his eyes enough to see, though he was still forced to shield his face with his arm. If he squinted he was just about able to make out a dark shape stalking towards him. Stumbling backwards Lestrade cursed under his breath. Great, now what was he going to do? He supposed he could just turn tail and run but then he would leave the two people behind him in Scotland Yard and goodness only knows what they would get up to. No, running wasn't an option. What he needed to do was face up to these people and show them that he wasn't a pushover. Maybe then they would leave him alone. Lestrade lowered his arm and glared blearily at the person before him, still unable to make out any specific details but able to see enough to see the long handled knife they are clutching in one hand. This wasn't looking good. Lestrade swallowed nervously and turned on his heel, intending to make a run for it. Before he could the person strode forward with long strides and wrapped a slender arm around his neck, pulling Lestrade close so they could plunge the knife into his side. Then, as though they had grown bored of him, the person roughly shoved Lestrade from him. Lestrade tried to steady himself against the wall but intense pain shot through his side. He cried out and slumped to the floor, pressing his hand over his wound to try and stop the flow of blood pumping between his fingers. Blearily Lestrade raised his head when he heard a deep chuckle coming from above him.

The person standing over him was familiar, very familiar and Lestrade stared at the person with his mouth open, trying to make sense of the person before him. What was Sherlock doing here? Why had he stabbed him? He frowned. Actually now he was getting a closer look he wasn't even sure that it was actually Sherlock. He was sure the detective would never wear a long leather coat or look down on him with dead, emotionless eyes. If that wasn't confusing enough a short, blond haired john lookalike appeared behind Sherlock, watching him with curious eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" Lestrade gasped, painfully dragging himself backwards away from them. He winced when, reaching up to wipe away a trickle of fluid from the corner of his mouth, his fingertip came away red. Damn, his wound must be worse than he intially thought. Gingerly, afraid of what he would find, Lestrade reaached down and probed his wound. It was deep and a steady stream of blood was still flowing from it despite his efforts to stem it. Pain flared through him and his vision blurred, momentarily obscuring the Sherlock and John lookalikes as a curtain of darkness settled over his eyes. Shaking his head to dispel the feeling he glared up at the pair standing over him.

The tall Sherlock lookalike smirked nastily before turning his back to head towards the emergency exit. "Sweet dreams Greg Lestrade, I don't believe we shall be seeing one another again. Come Lester it is time for us to leave." The John lookalike gazed down at Lestrade a moment longer with a terrified expression in his eyes before hurrying after his companion.

Lestrade attempted to stand but his legs collapsed beneath him when pain shot through his side, forcing a cry from between his lips. "Hey." He managed to spit out from between gritted teeth. "You didn't answer my question." He slumped down again, exhausted by his efforts to move, and pressed his hand more firmly against his wound but the blood just continue to puddle on the floor. A thought struck him and he reached into his pocket for his phone. To his horror his hand closed on emptyness and he remembered that he had left it in his briefcase. Lestrade cursed himself for being so stupid.

He heard a laugh and realised that the Sherlock lookalike had turned to watch him struggle. "Things are not always what they seem Greg Lestrade." He said cyptically, waving his hand. Then he reached out, grabbed Lester's arm in a tight grip and disappeared through the door leading to the stair well.

Lestrade groaned loudly and felt several tears run down his face. He would worry about the Sherlock and John lookalikes later, right now he needed to get to a phone. He paused to steel himself for the three metre crawl between him and his office and then slowly, painfully began to drag himself forward, leaving a streak of vivid red blood behind him. At first the pain was almost overwelming and it felt like white hot needles were being pushed into his skin but then a wave of numbness flooded through him followed by a breath taking coldness that made Lestrade shiver. With only two metres left to go to his office Lestrade felt his chest constrict and tighten until he was barely able to breathe and darkness danced at the edges of his vision. Spitting out a strangled yell he forced himself forward, ignoring the peculiar drifting sensation settling over his mind. With only half a metre to go Lestrade collapsed, unable to go any further despite how much he raged at himself to keep going. It was useless, he had reached the end of his strength. He had been so close and the edge of his desk was in touching distance but he was simply unable to go any further. Lestrade allowed himself to go limp and hardly winced when his head struck the floor with a hollow clunk. In fact he didn't feel anything any more because of the numbness which was engulfing every part of his body and slowly spreading through his mind, leaving emptyness in its wake until Greg Lestrade simply drifted away.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and I are enjoying the peace of early morning, the time before we receive any calls demanding we were needed at a crime scene, when a number of police officers arrive at 221B and start trying to break down the door of the flat. When I hear the noise I rush out of the kitchen, a peice of toast still clutched in my hand, to find Sherlock engrossed in his paper and looking as though he can't hear the shouting and loud crashes coming from outside. I stare at him for a moment, wondering how he can be so calm, before rolling my eyes. Despite how long I have known him I don't think I will ever truely understand the detective. Then I turn my attention towards the door and hesistantly walk towards it, half expecting it to burst open at any moment. Half way to the door I pause and turn back towards Sherlock, wanting to see some hint of reaction in him. I am disappointed though because his face is still calm and he continues to read the paper. I shake my head. "How the hell can you be so calm Sherlock? Can't you hear the people trying to batter down our door?" I demand, already knowing I probably won't get a reaction. All Sherlock does is glance up briefly but that is long enough for me to see a worried frown flash across his face. Hmmm, he's obviously not quite as calm as he would have me believe.

Outside the door the shouting has stopped and through the wood I hear a single voice instructing everyone to be quiet while he address the suspects. Hang on, suspects? That can't be right can it? Maybe I misheard or... I glare over at Sherlock who smiles back but I am sure he had something to do with it. This wouldn't be the first time Lestrade has sent his officers round on a dawn raid because Sherlock annoyed him. Hopefully what ever he did wasn't too bad and the officers will leave quickly so Sherlock and I can enjoy the rest of our Sunday. Outside the door there is still silence and I walk a few paces forward, curious to find out what it going on. The next moment there is a quiet knock, causing me to jump back a few steps before I can catch myself. Thankfully Sherlock didn't see that or you can sure I would never hear the end of it. I still don't answer the door though and stand there staring at it, wondering if opening it is really the best option.

Behind me I hear a rustle of paper as Sherlock folds up his paper and lays it to one side. "Well," He asks. "Aren't you going to answer that?"

Work in progress


End file.
